Precious, a Supernatural fanfiction
by clueless-chan
Summary: This is an AU story where Dean was a US Special Force member in Afghanistan and Castiel keeper of a house near the border.  Character deaths  not major ones , war background and gore.  Dean/Castiel, drama, slash, rated: M .
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Precious, part 1 of 3  
**Author: **clueless_psycho  
**Fandom/Genre: **Supernatural, AU/Drama/Slash  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel  
**Rating: **R  
**Word Count: **20,304  
**Warnings: **AU, deaths, but not the major one, war, gore 

Written for deancasbigbang 2010 challenge at LiveJournal.

Story masterpost: .  
**Art masterpost: .**

**Summary: **Dean, Kubrick, Jake and Ash were US Special Force members stationed in Afghanistan. An attack got them separated from the basecamp and lost in the mountainous area. They came across a house, kept by Castiel who fed them, let them stay the night and tended Jake's wound. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary until Kubrick was found dead upon leaving the house.

Alpha and beta readers: seraphim_grace and randrews25  
Special thanks to my unofficial cheerleader: singerofdark

_So take my hand  
I'm a stranger in the strangest land  
I'll return the favour  
Slide into my heart  
We'll hide there in the dark_

**Strangest Land – Tom McRae**

"It's a full moon," Castiel spoke quietly, his voice floating in the air like smoke.

Dean shifted his head to the window so he could see the sky outside and it was indeed a full moon, the soft beam brightened the sky and it reminded him of colorful lights in Las Vegas.

"I'll show you something," Castiel said again as he handed Dean the last plate to dry.

They were in the kitchen, washing the dirty plates and glasses and spoons and forks. Castiel had told Dean that he didn't need to help him, but Dean insisted because Castiel had been very kind to feed him and his friends and give them a place to stay the night, this was the least he could do to express his gratitude.

Although, dish-washing turned to be a little hard to do as the plates were made of very fine porcelain, the glasses crystal and the spoons and forks and knives silver, they could have come from Louis XIII's palace if Dean may say so about them, and Dean was used more to handling guns and hunting knives than silver eating utensils, and there was no electric dishwasher. Still Dean enjoyed it, he enjoyed being around Castiel, who wore a _gamis_, a robe made of kaftan, like an Afghan woman, and moved so gracefully as if his feet didn't touch the ground at all and the correct term should be "glide".

Castiel took a candle in its candlestick and Dean did the same and he followed Castiel. They walked toward the stairway, passing doors that led to rooms. They passed the living room where Kubrick was smoking a cigar and drinking wine while playing solitaire chess, using a set made of ivory. They passed the library and Dean saw Ash was browsing leather bound books, as thick and big as pillows, yapping about the lack of electricity that prevented him from booting up his self-made laptop and accessing the net. They went up to the second floor and Dean could hear Jake's heavy breathing from behind the nearest door from the stairs and he was glad to know that Jake was getting better so fast after Castiel tended to the wound caused by a knife in his left thigh.

They walked up to the third floor- which turned out to be a maze of corridors and Dean was convinced that if Castiel suddenly disappeared while they were there, he would never find his way back to the living room; Or he would, but not until another century had passed and if he was still alive by then, and the house would be exactly the same.

Castiel finally stopped in front of a huge wooden door with a rusted handle and hinges. It wasn't locked but Castiel had to make a real effort to make the door budge a little, so Dean helped and decided that the door weighed at least a tonne.

"This leads to the tower," Castiel said after Dean had pushed the door enough to make a gap for them to slide through. There was a stairway behind the door, made of river stones, but Dean didn't remember having seen a tower attached to the house. Naturally he was wrong and he decided that he had to stop guessing or making any assumptions about the house because the house was clearly not average.

They began climbing the stairs, Castiel didn't make any sound at all except for his even breathing while the soft whisper of Dean's military issued boots shushed against the hollow cylinder stone walls and followed by the noises of his panting after several tenth of steps.

"You okay?" asked Castiel without pausing or looking back at him.

"Yeah, peachy keen," Dean answered, trying to sound cheerful and brave, although he wished that at the top of this seemingly endless stairway, there was his mom's awesome roast beef sandwiches that he missed so much.

"We can stop here and go back if you want," Castiel offered although he didn't show any intention to stop.

Dean wanted to tell him that he had gone through worse when he went through tests to join the Special Forces. Two weeks in Hell seemed to be more appropriate. But he stayed quiet and followed on.

When he finally saw the door at the end of the stairwell, Dean felt like his lungs were going to burst. He stopped and took a deep breath while Castiel opened the door. Dean had stopped counting Castiel's strangeness, so he held his tongue back and went after Castiel's heels.

They entered an empty room, dark except for the candle light and moonbeam flowing through the huge hole in one of the walls. Dean took it as a window, although it looked more like a King Kong smashed a hole with one hand.

"Come here," said Castiel, jerking his head toward the make-shift window. "You can see things best here."

"What things?" Dean asked, approaching Castiel.

Then, as the whole scenery outside the window came into view, Dean forgot to breathe or even close his mouth for a minute. He couldn't even get his brain to think of the right word. Fantastic. Magnificent. Beautiful. Awesome. Other.

Heaven.

The rocky mountains of Afghanistan stretched from one end to another, some with their tops covered in snow and the darkness made it look like a black and white photo and the moonlight made the snow shine. Leafless trees added to the eeriness of the picture and once, for one split second, Dean believed in God as the creator of this.

Too bad his cell phone was out of battery that he couldn't take pictures of what he saw in front of him, to show people back in the basecamp and back home what he decided instantly to be the most beautiful scenery on Earth.

Dean stood still, taking in every detail, etching them in his memory, hoping that he would remember it for the rest of his life.

"Wow," he said after he could find his voice. "That's amazing." And the more he stared at it, the more he didn't want to leave. He wondered how it looked during daylight with the Sun shining upon them. "What lies at the other side?"

"Mongolia. China. Tibet"

"Okay," Dean nodded. That gave him some sorts of direction because really, the reason he and his teammates were here was because Ash kick-ass compass broke after a Taliban knifed it and they roamed in the mountains, running away from the Taliban, aimlessly. "Have you been there?" (Taliban is the same in plural)

He turned his head to see Castiel was staring afar, the the horizon, and he looked oblivious of his surroundings and probably he didn't even hear Dean's question.

Dean let several seconds passed before repeating, "Have you been there?"

Castiel slowly turned his head, and said, "No" with his blue, blue eyes boring into his. They were gleaming like they were the moon, and the same colour as it's corona.

"No?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Never?"

"Never."

"It seems close."

"Yes, it does."

"So why? Why haven't you gone there? I'm sure you don't even need a passport."

"I've never been anywhere."

- - -

The bath was luxurious in a room which must have been built during the stone age, just like the rest of the house. The water was hot and Dean didn't have any idea where it came from because there was no electricity that made installation of water heater possible and he couldn't see any kind of stove like what he saw in an _ofuro_ in this bathroom.

There were clothes in the wardrobe, there were even underwear -, but Dean preferred his spare clothes from the backpack. He put on a wife-beater and his BDU pants and climbed onto the bed.

The bed was huge, four poster with canopy and drapes made of heavy brocade. The mattress was soft like clouds and the sheets were the finest woven flax linen. Dean slid under the blanket, it was cold and the thought of snow over the mountain tops made him shiver. There was a fire place but there was no wood and Dean didn't think it's appropriate to ask Castiel for that in this ungodly hour. It was a little after midnight.

He lay wide-eyed, staring at the canopy above him, trying to understand the patterns carved there. At first he thought it was some sort of calligraphy, either Arabic or Indian or even hieroglyph, but it didn't look like that. He had learned a little Arabic during his stay in Afghanistan. He supposed he had better be sleeping, he was exhausted, but he couldn't.

He was about to start counting imaginary goats in the hope that would make him bored enough to sleep, when Ash came barging in and hopping into the bed. Ash wore a tunic and loose pants and looked right at home.

"Dean, Dean," Ash whispered in his ear. Ash too smelled of shampoo and soap which seemed like a good sign. Normally Ash smelled like dust and radiation. "There's something about this house. It doesn't feel right."

Dean sat up and stared at Ash. Ash was a good soldier but he was also a geek, a bad one, and sometimes, half of his words were not understandable by normal standard. "What do you mean?" Dean frowned. It was only an act. He knew there was something about the house, and Castiel.

"You know, the books I went through in the library, most of them are about magic."

"What magic? Criss Angel's magic or Harry Potter's magic?"

"What? No. Criss Angel is a douche, it's not magic at all. It's illusion and if you ask me, it's not even that spectacular; and Harry Potter is rip-off. I know better books. But the ones in the library are more like Merlin's magic. Ancient spells." Ash stopped and looked up. "There are lots of symbols like that." He pointed up. "All over those books."

Dean looked up too. "Isn't it some kind of artwork? It might be a sutra."

"No!" Ash blurted. "But I will find out what it is. Castiel isn't telling us the whole truth."

Dean laughed. "Ash, he's the owner of this house and we... we're only beggars, staying here under his mercy because we need food and a roof while Jake needs medical treatment. He doesn't need to tell us anything."

Ash snorted. "Oh yeah? And what about a room full of weapons? I mean: ancient weapons. Swords, spears, javelins, sabers… axes. I swear that one of the swords there once belonged to Minamoto Musashi."

"Isn't he fictional?"

"No! You should've read more history. He was real. And his sword was in this house. And the chess Kubrick's been playing since after dinner, I bet that came from Shah Jehan's collection."

Dean shook his head. "You shouldn't peek where you shouldn't."

Ash shifted away and sat down. "Damn, I wish I can get the laptop to work. I'm sure I've seen that symbol somewhere."

"Ash, just try to sleep, okay? You're exhausted. You'll need the energy tomorrow."

Ash took a deep breath. Ash had the ability of going on for days without sleeping. His record was seven days. Dean kept him company for the first three days before passing out for one and a half. If Ash hadn't suddenly fainted in the middle of gathering a refugee's goats, he might've nailed a better record.

He shrugged at the suggestion. "You're right," he said. Then he crawled into the vacant space next to Dean.

"You have your own room," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, but I'm scared, man. You don't seem like you will be able to sleep, you may as well watch me," said Ash before yawning and putting his head on the pillow.

- - -

Ash snored like Dean's brother, Sam. Dean wondered whether it was a geek thing. Sam went to law school in Stanford. He would soon graduate, however he also had a passion for computers and the net that he wouldn't be surprised if Sam ended up as a software programmer rather than working as a justice enforcer just like he always wanted to do.

At three am, Dean gave up on sleep. He climbed out of the bed, put his jacket and boots on and got out of the bedroom. He walked along the corridors, wondering whether he too should check the rooms for any surprises, like Ash did, but he shrugged it off. It was impolite. Castiel had been kind enough to take them in and take care of them, he really shouldn't peek on what he kept behind closed doors.

He went out of the house through the kitchen. It was colder outside, and from where he was standing at the backyard, he could see the mountains, tall, huge and intimidating. Moonlight still shone brightly upon them. Dean slipped his hands into his jacket pocket and saw a chopping block with an axe lying on the grass and a pile of wood logs next to it. He laughed.

He padded to the chopping block and picked up the axe, testing its weight. There was no way Castiel could lift the axe, he thought as he tried to swing it. He had no problem doing it, he had the experience of swinging something heavier.

But then, if Castiel didn't chop his own woods, how could he make fire to cook and keep the house warm as there was no gas in addition to the non-existence of electricity? Maybe someone delivered them on a regular basis or came over to chop the woods for him?

Deciding that the latter must be the case, Dean put one log on the chopping block and began axing it into smaller pieces. Maybe if he exhausted himself more by chopping logs, he would be able to sleep.

He was half-way through the woodpile when the kitchen door was opened and Castiel showed up.

"You're up early," Castiel said as he leaned on the door sill. He was still wearing the gamis, but this time with a cloak draped on his shoulder and at this point, Dean wanted to know if he wore anything else underneath.

"I couldn't sleep," Dean answered, avoiding Castiel's eyes. He put another log on the block.

"Is the room not comfortable?" Castiel's face darkened. "The mattress too hard, too soft?"

"No, no, no. Everything's fine. Perfect. It's just me."

"You should've told me. I can bring you warm milk."

Dean lowered his axe in maximum force and split the log into smaller pieces. "That won't be necessary. I didn't want to trouble you."

Castiel finally peeled himself from the door sill and walked towards him. "I'll bake some bread for you then," he said. "May I take some of the wood?"

Dean smiled at him. "By all means, it's all yours."

Castiel took an armful and Dean watched him go back to the kitchen. Then he took an armful of logs too and followed Castiel to the kitchen. Behind him, the sun had begun to claim the day back from the moon.

- - -

Much to Dean's surprise, Castiel made bread for breakfast. Granted it was only flatbread, which was very simple to make, but it was still bread nonetheless and the thought of putting a piece of warm bread, fresh from the pan, on to his tastebuds, made Dean's mouth water and his stomach grumble. He helped crack the eggs, measuring flours and sugar and mixing butter. He also did the cleaning constantly while Castiel focused on bringing the bread into perfection.

And while he was in the kitchen he found a big sack of Moroccan coffee beans, another big surprise. Dean happily ground them and brewed them. Even Dean's lack of skill in making coffee didn't ruin it, it still came out tasting like Heaven, which was a very exciting change from the basecamp supply.

By the time Castiel finished baking the last bread and the coffee was ready, the kitchen smelled pleasantly like a bakery.

Even before Castiel got to set up the dining table for breakfast, Kubrick and Ash had showed up in the kitchen, both with matching grins. They helped themselves with coffee while Dean cleared up the table to make room for the bread baskets.

Jake joined them just as Castiel was preparing a tray to take to the bedroom for him and it was good to see color had returned to Jake's face. Jake was a good soldier, skillful and well-trained with strength above average. However, sometimes, it was all about luck and it was only a bad day for him when a Taliban managed to dig a knife into his thigh and tear the flesh before Kubrick shot him point blank. Jake lost so much blood although Ash had given him first aid, using a tourniquet before bandaging the wound to keep the flesh intact and the bleeding stopped, and Dean had to carry him and if they didn't find this house, Jake could've been dead already.

"How's your leg?" asked Kubrick.

"Good," Jake said. "The wound has closed."

Kubrick looked up at Castiel. "What kind of drug did you give to him?"

"Jake is a strong young man," Castiel answered. "His body still has the ability of self-healing."

Ash laughed. "Even so, it usually takes a normal body two or three days."

"Some people heal quicker," Castiel insisted. "It's a blessing."

Dean cut in. "I guess what matters now is that Jake is all right,"

That ended the discussion. Besides, no one seemed to want to let their coffee and bread too cold to enjoy.

They ate like they hadn't been eating for the last month and Castiel refilled their coffee cups again and again. No one declined, although ahalf a cup of the coffee tasted as strong as double espresso and Dean suspected that Castiel must've added more sugar to make it really sweet. No one but Dean noticed that the basket didn't seem to run out of bread. Dean didn't say anything because he had his mouth full and he was taught the military way: eat as much as you can while you can because you never know when you'll be able to eat again.

After finishing three cups of coffee and uncounted number of bread, Kubrick got up and spoke, patting his full belly,"I'm going to take a look around. If you don't mind."

"Oh no, not at all," Castiel shook his head.

- - -

With breakfast done, Kubrick and Jake left the kitchen. Jake said that he wanted to go back to sleep, as he still felt very weak. Kubrick didn't say anything. Dean and Ash stayed to help Castiel clean the kitchen, then Ash announced that he would go back to the library.

Kitchen clean and shiny, Dean went back to the bedroom, however when he passed a patio and saw Jake sitting at the edge of a fountain there, he changed his direction.

"I thought you were going to rest?"

Jake nodded. He looked disturbed. "Don't you think it's strange?" he asked quietly as if he was scared that the fountain and the plants and the walls had ears and could hear what he said.

"What's strange?" Dean sat down next to him.

"This whole thing. My wound. Yesterday I had a wound that practically tore my leg open. Now what's left is a fresh scar. No more pain, no more blood."

"I guess you should be grateful. Some people have that kind of body."

"I know, but this is extreme. Normally you have to put some kind of medicine. Like what they do for footballers. But Castiel - he didn't do anything."

Dean frowned. "Didn't he? I saw him cleaning the wound."

"Yes. And that was all he did. And he used the same water you and Ash used to wash me up, after you tore off my clothes."

"Didn't he bandage it?"

"Yes, but only to stop the blood from spilling out. And you know what? I took off the bandage this morning and it wasn't stained at all."

Dean nodded, making a mmm sound.

"I gotta get out of here," Jake got up, and left the patio. "This place gives me the creeps."

Dean stayed there for a while, watching the water, feeling amused to see little fish the surface. They were swimming happily among some tiny water plants and they seemed to love to play with the splashing water.

- - -

Dean took a bath again as it seemed stupid not to take advantage of the free-flow hot water. He gathered his dirty clothes, put them in a wooden bucket and took them out. There was a small well near where he chopped the woods and he assumed that he could wash the clothes there. He wasn't very fond of house chores but in the army, you take care of your own things. Besides, there isn't really much things to do in the house. Jake had gone back to sleep, he was very weak although the wound had almost completely healed, he was still weak from losing too much blood. Reading could be a good choice of whiling away the time, but the library had been taken over by Ash, who was still determined to find the meaning of the symbol carved on the canopy ceiling.

He found Castiel near the well, with a pile of dirty laundry at his feet. Dean could see his friend's clothes. He felt embarrassed at his friends' attitude.

"I'll do it," he said as he put the bucket down.

"It's difficult," Castiel said. He bent to pick up Jake's shirt. "This is blood."

Dean wanted to tell him that probably it was easier to just burn the clothes anyway, but what came out of his mouth was, "I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?" Castiel smiled softly at him.

Dean smiled back at him. "I'm sure."

"I'll help you hang them later."

"No worries."

Then Castiel walked away and Dean had just realized that Castiel had changed his gamis into tunic and pants.

He also realized that the laundry pile was quite a big one. He sighed, then he rolled up his pants to his knees, lowered his ass to a low wooden stool next to the pile and he began working.

In addition to the military issued clothes that belonged to him and his friends, there were also Castiel's clothes, which were the least of his problems because they were made of linen, and there were bed sheets and pillow cases and blankets and Dean wondered why he didn't see them before and whether Castiel took the advantage of having some visitors to do his annual linen laundry. Still he tried not to complain, and just kept on working.

He also found that blood stain was difficult to get rid of. Period. But he wouldn't want to admit that to Castiel and made the real effort to eliminate it.

He was half way through the laundry and suffering a stiff back when Ash showed up, asking, "Dean, have you seen Kubrick?"

Dean tilted his head, then raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't. Have you checked the living room? He's probably playing chess there."

"I did. He's not there. The cigar box had also disappeared."

"Maybe he went smoking somewhere."

"I'll check his bedroom."

Dean only nodded and thought Ash should've done that before asking him. He resumed the laundry duty.

It didn't take long for Ash to come back, this time he ran.

"I still couldn't find Kubrick," he said.

Dean squinted his eyes. "Ash, this is a very big land. He could be going for a walk to the mountain. He could be going to that forest over there." Dean jerked his head toward a group of trees.

Ash furrowed his eyebrows at the trees. He was quiet for a moment then he said, "One of the knives is missing from the Armory as well."

Dean sighed.

"I know!" Ash blurted again. "I counted the weapons, and you know I have a photographic memory. It's a knife, a silver knife."

Dean said quietly. "Maybe Castiel took it, maybe he needs it to do something," he said quietly. "Slaughter a goose perhaps?"

Ash looked shocked and hurt. "Dean, you don't use a knife like that to slaughter a goose."He took one step back.

"So you think Kubrick stole it, along with the cigars?"

Ash only shrugged and turned around and jogged back to the house.

Dean watched Ash for a while, then he resumed the washing, he didn't understand why Ash was so concerned about the missing soldier, the cigars suggested that he had just gone somewhere to be alone and smoke, and he could take care of himself.

The sun was at its highest position in the sky and despite the fact that the house was in a mountainous area, it still got very hot. Dean was perspiring through his t-shirt and he could feel sweatdrops sliding on his skin. He wanted a glass of lemonade.

Castiel showed up again just as he was hand-spinning the last piece of clothing. "Done," he said, proud and relieved.

"Thank you," Castiel smiled. "I'll hang them. Then we can have lunch."

Dean managed not to offer his help anymore, he was stiff and sore from scrubbing the clothes, getting water from the well and what not. He stood up, straightened his back, stretched, then he bent down again to lift one to the buckets to the rows of clotheslines nearby. Castiel carried another one.

Castiel started to hang the clothes in silence, he seemed to be carried away by the rhythm of picking on clothes, tossing it over the clothesline and keeping it secure with some wooden pins. Dean found himself staring at Castiel, at how he bent down and straightened up and at how the hem of his tunic floated with the breeze.

"Ash told me that one of the knives from the Armory disappeared."

Castiel stopped mid-air from throwing a shirt over the clothesline. His back stiffened and he looked disturbed.

"Sorry that he had been peeking into the room," Dean felt suddenly very bad. "He shouldn't do that. But he noticed that one silver knife had disappeared."

Castiel tidied the shirt on the clothesline and secured it with pins. "No, really. It's okay if Ash wants to look. I never pay any attention to the room, I have no interest there. But I'll check. I can't remember all of them."

"Okay."

"Can you get another one?" Castiel asked, jerking his chin toward the empty bucket.

"Sure."

"Thank you."

Dean went back to the well and took another bucket. Except that he didn't see Castiel anymore at the clothes line area. He scanned his surroundings with his eyes, hoping to see Castiel between the wind-blown bedsheets, but Castiel wasn't anywhere nearby. He snorted then laughed then decided that it must be Castiel's trick to get him to hang the laundry. No, he wasn't going to get fooled again. He had chopped the woods, washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and did the laundry, he wasn't going to hang them as well. If Castiel didn't want to do it, so be it.

He turned around and headed for the kitchen door. He was only a few steps away from the kitchen, when, through the door, he saw Castiel inside, and Castiel looked to be trying to save something from the giant oven. He probably tried to save their lunch.

Dean gave up and went back to the clotheslines.

By the time he finished with hanging the laundry, Dean decided that he had had enough of household chores for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do now was lie on the bed with his face buried in the pillow and dream that he was somewhere else but here.

He entered the kitchen to the burning smell of meat. He scrunched up his nose and saw Castiel staring at what suspiciously looked like a big bird in a metal plate on the kitchen table. Castiel looked up. "I burned the goose," he said.

- - -

Luckily, after carving it carefully, Dean managed to save more than half of the overtly-roasted wild goose for lunch. Castiel had baked some potatoes and wild mushrooms to go with the goose, which made it perfect. Ash came to the kitchen to join them for lunch, informing them that Jake was still sleeping and he still couldn't find Kubrick, and despite the fact that he still had some suspicions on Castiel, he ate heartily. To Dean's surprise, Castiel sat down with them at the kitchen table and ate.

Kubrick didn't show up even after they finished their lunch so Castiel said that he would save some for Kubrick and prepare some to take up upstairs for Jake.

He also served some rice pudding he had made for dessert.

"This is real good," Ash commented, again with his mouth full with rice pudding. "You could become the best chef the world has ever had."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"You could even try Top Chef," Ash continued. "You could be famous and very, very rich."

"You want me to take it up to Jake?" Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel turned to look at him. "No, it's okay, I'll do it. Why don't you just rest? You've been working very hard today." Dean swore he saw a tint of sadness in Castiel's eyes.

"Okay," Dean shrugged.

"I'll clean the kitchen," Ash offered as he reached for the second cup of rice pudding.

"Thank you," Castiel smiled.

"I'll see if I can find Kubrick," Dean said.

But first, he went to Kubrick's bedroom. He didn't know why but he wanted to check on Kubrick's stuff. It wasn't a good thing to do, he didn't have the habit to rummage into someone else's belongings even someone as suspicious as Kubrick, but he felt like he needed to make sure that everything was all right. Kubrick's stuff was there, his backpack, his canteen, his boots, his clothes. He checked Kubrick's backpack, opened the wardrobe, pulled out the drawers, feeling that there was something missing there but he couldn't remember what.

Finished with Kubrick's bedroom, he headed for the front door to check the yard. He was passing a door when he decided to stop and take a look inside. It was the Armory. Again, without being able to hold back, Dean stepped inside and couldn't hide his amazement.

Ash was right. It was a stunning collection of ancient weapons. There were swords and knives and sabers and axes and spears and javelins and there were more which Dean didn't even know the names of. They were neatly fastened on the walls or lined on the tables with metal rings. There was nothing to protect them from getting stolen, no alarm system, no bomb-proof glass, they lay there naked and vulnerable.

Dean noticed that there was a vacant place. He fingered the holder, wondering what the knife looked like. It must be something really precious, like the rest of the weapons. He wondered if it was really Castiel who took it and used it to slaughter a goose that they had just eaten, or if Kubrick stole it.

He really hoped to hear from Kubrick soon.

- - -

Dean slowly combed the yard, looking for any signs of Kubrick. He felt that it was a wasteful effort, Kubrick could be in a village nearby or on one of the mountains, but he did it anyway. He must've walked along half the area when he saw a patch of land that served as a little farm of vegetables and potatoes. And Ash was working there - pulling out weeds, checking the soil and stuff. He didn't look too happy. Dean laughed to himself. He wanted to know how Castiel talked him into tending the farm.

But something was off about Ash. Ash was wearing a pair of very old jeans and a checkered shirt, the sleeves had been ripped off. Back home in the United States, Ash dressed up like that when he wasn't wearing the military uniform. He came from a hippy family whose idea of perfect clothing was stuck in the 1970's. They hadn't been proud of their boy joining the military.

Dean went to approach Ash. Up-close, Ash looked miserable covered in soil and swearing but that didn't stop Dean from teasing him, "You look pretty much in your element."

"I swear," Ash gritted his teeth. "I'm sure that the reason why my parents chose to live in a caravan was so that we didn't have to deal with this." He tossed the cultivator away.

"Where did you get those clothes?" Dean asked, straight to business.

Ash looked down. "They're in the wardrobe in my bedroom. And they fit." He shrugged. "Although, yeah, funny to think that Cas keeps clothes like this. But I guess deep in his heart, he has some passion. You know…"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Ash washed his hand in a bucket of water. "Come, I'll show you something," he said as he wiped his hands on the jeans.

They walked further away from the house until they reached the small forest at the other side of the land.

"You see the trees and grass are better here than in other parts of the land," Ash said as he looked up. Dean had to agree that the trees looked very healthy. And the grass covered the ground like a thick carpet.

"Yeah," Dean nodded.

"Do you know why?"

Dean tilted his head. He didn't like trivia.

"I bet this area is a fucking cemetery," Ash answered his own question.

- - -

Dean wanted to ask Ash what made him think that there were dead bodies buried under the ground, other than the sign of big, beautiful trees standing on that ground. It wasn't that he was scared. He had seen dead bodies, he had dealt with dead bodies more than he wanted to for the rest of his life. He had seen people die in front of him - friends and foes; In a war zone it was inevitable.

He supposed Ash should give him hard evidence, but he respected the dead, as much as the living, so he supposed it wasn't a good idea to start digging to find bones, or decaying bodies.

He wondered who they were, were they Castiel's ancestors? Had there been a war, a fight on this land and people died and in the lack of proper funeral, they were buried all in the same big hole like plague dead?

He shook his head and told Ash that he would go back to the house.

- - -

Castiel was surprisingly not in the kitchen, cooking, as usual. He was in the library, putting books back into the shelves. Apparently, Ash had made a mess.

The library, Dean found that he liked it there. Granted that it reeked of leather and old papers and dust, but it was serene and quiet and somewhat soothing there as if people could always rely on the room to find solitude and tranquility.

"You know, some people think books are their most precious belongings," Castiel said without even turning his head to see who was coming.

Dean knew. Dean knew that Sam and Ash's love for books was as much as his love for roast beef sandwich, which he missed very much now like Ash missed his laptop and the internet, Dean liked stories but books weren't worth it. He let the silence pass for a few seconds, before he asked, "Cas, why do you speak English? Why don't you speak Persiani? Or Pashto perhaps?"

Castiel gave him a side-long glance. "Would you understand it if I speak Persian?"

"I've been here long enough to understand some, yes."

Castiel shifted his eyes back to the books. "There are probably ten thousand books here," he said instead of answering Dean's question.

Dean took a deep breath. He gave up. "Have you read them all?" he asked as he walked towards Castiel.

"Only a few. I don't have time."

Dean pulled one leatherbound book carefully out of the shelf.

"Herodotus's Histories," Castiel said.

Dean tilted his head.

"The original version," Castiel added, as if to convince Dean.

Dean laughed, but Castiel took the book from his hand. He didn't put it back into the shelf, he opened it, thumbed the yellow pages and stopped somewhere and began reading, in English, _"Now the manners and customs of the Getae, who believe in their immortality, I have already spoken of. The Trausi in all else resemble the other Thracians, but have customs at births and deaths which I will now describe. When a child is born all its kindred sit round about it in a circle and weep for the woes it will have to undergo now that it is come into the world, making mention of every ill that falls to the lot of humankind; when, on the other hand, a man has died, they bury him with laughter and rejoicings, and say that now he is free from a host of sufferings, and enjoys the completest happiness."_

Castiel's voice floated in the air, soft and sweet like cotton candy and Dean knew that if Castiel read him a whole telephone book, he would listen to it.

- - -

Jake joined them for dinner, but there was still no sign of Kubrick, although Ash had stopped asking about him. There was no point in trying to find him, even if Kubrick had left, he was a big boy, he could take care of himself. Besides, the farm job seemed to make him too exhausted to even speak.

Dean only hoped that if Kubrick did leave the house, he remembered to come back to help them. Jake looked concerned.

Castiel didn't let him help with the dirty dishes and Dean decided it was only fair. He had chopped the wood and did the laundry, he could use a good rest. Jake looked to have healed completely so perhaps they could try to go back to the base camp.

Maybe he should try to talk Castiel into coming with them. Maybe he could take Castiel back to America, to Kansas City.

Maybe…

He was changing his clothes when Ash came barging in again.

"Look what I found!" he exclaimed as he deliberately bounced into the bed. He had a small book in his hand.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Did you steal something?"

"No!" Ash blurted. "I only borrowed this."

"What did you borrow?" Dean asked. He had decided to put on some of the spare clothes from the wardrobe – loose pants and tunic. He joined Ash in the bed. "Where did you get this from?"

Ash held up the book for him to see. It looked like a note book, the kind people liked to use to write things.

"The library," Ash gave him a shocked look. "It's a diary." He slid under the blanket. Dean lay next him so he could have a good look. "See this. This is someone's handwriting."

"Yes, I can see that." It said: Bobby Singer, March 1971.

Ash flipped the book open. "I don't know why someone's diary could be in this house. This looks like a journal. A travel journal. Starting on March second, nineteen seventy one. Read this. We're finally off to Afghanistan. I can't believe this. I don't even know what to expect there except rocky mountains and militant Moslems."

"Mujahidin," Dean said.

"Yeah, whatever." Ash flipped further. "Yeah, he seemed to be traveling with two or three friends." He stopped. _"March five. I'm done with riding a donkey for the rest of my life. Idjits. I do hope this is worth it. Lucky the inn we stay in, if it can be called an inn, serves decent food. I hope it isn't the donkey we had just ridden on. Poor guy. But the meat is just too juicy to be an overworked donkey. I hope it's a goat."_ Ash stopped, frowned. "_Idjits?_" He read on. _"I was smoking alone in the yard inn when an old woman approached me and asked where we are going. I told her that we're going to the house. She told me it isn't wise to do that. The whole house was spellbound by a very powerful wizard and guarded by a powerful djinn. She said whoever gets in never comes out, and lots of people had tried. I told her that we know the house was haunted, and that's exactly why we're here. She told me to just turn around and go back to where we came from. I told her that we've gotten this far, so we're not coming back without anything. She looked sad and wished that may God be with us forever. "_

He stopped because the door was pushed open and Castiel showed up with a pile of clean clothes, neatly pressed and folded and Castiel stopped at the door when he saw Ash in Dean's bed. He looked surprised for one split second, then his eyes darkened.

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?" he murmured.

"No, no, no," Dean got out of the bed. "It's okay."

"Yeah, I'm just reading him some bed time stories," Ash said casually.

That didn't seem to convince Castiel. Dean practically jogged towards Castiel. He smiled. Castiel smiled back at him. "You don't have to do this," he said as he accepted the clothes. "I can do it tomorrow."

Castiel only said, "See you tomorrow, then."

"You don't wanna come in and listen to Ash' stories?" Dean teased.

"No," Castiel shook his head, then he turned around and walked away and Dean felt his heart fell to his knees.

He put the clothes on the table, then he exited the bedroom to chase after Castiel. Castiel was gliding along the corridors, and he called him out, "Cas!"

Castiel stopped and slowly turned around.

Dean balled his fists. His stomach churned violently. He had never had something like that since the first time he saw Lisa Braeden, the most beatiful girl in high school. Dean toughened himself up. "Look, it isn't what you think."

Castiel tilted his head. He didn't show any facial expression at all. "I'm not thinking of anything," he said.

Dean took one step forward, aware of his fast-beating heart, hoping that Castiel didn't hear it. "Ash… Ash is like that. He does things… without thinking whether…" He stopped. He didn't even know why he had to explain.

Castiel only nodded. "I understand."

Suddenly, Dean couldn't stop himself from grinning. He was standing very close to Castiel now and he wanted to lift his hands and put Castiel's face in his palms. "You can read me bedtime stories some other times," he teased again.

Castiel laughed. "You'll fall asleep before I even read five words. I'm boring."

"No harm in trying."

Castiel smiled, then he said, "Good night." Then he turned around and walked away.

Ash had fallen asleep when he got back, the journal was open in his hand. Dean took the journal, intending to put it away, but he found himself reading the open page.

_March twenty three. This is insane. I don't even know what to do. They had all died. I don't know what happened to them. I don't like having to bury them. I don't want to stay here any longer. I've been to haunted houses, I've hunted ghosts. But this is different. There's some kind of power here I can't understand, a magic spell, so strong, there's no way to break it or go around it. I should've listened to the old woman from the village. Anyway, I'm going tomorrow. And I'm going to take the book with me. I'm sure the book is the answer toeverything._

That seemed to be the end of the journal because there was no other entry as Dean thumbed it mindlessly.

There were probably ten thousand books in the library, Dean wondered which one Bobby mentioned as "the book".

He decided not to be bothered. He put the book on the nightstand and climbed up the bed to lie next to Ash and sleep.

- - -

onto part two


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Precious, part 2 of 3  
**Author: **clueless_psycho  
**Fandom/Genre: **Supernatural, AU/Drama/Slash  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel  
**Rating: **R  
**Word Count: **20,304  
**Warnings: **AU, deaths, but not the major one, war, gore 

The following morning Dean woke up just before dawn. Without thinking he put his clothes and went out to chop some woods for the kitchen. Castiel didn't show up to collect the wood but Dean could see him through the kitchen window, moving about to prepare breakfast. Dean smiled. He really needed to get out of this house. All he did was eat, sleep, bath and do house chores. He would get rusty that way. And pot bellied.

He brought the woods to the kitchen and received a soft smile as a thank you. He could see marks of creased pillow case on Castiel's cheeks and sleepiness hanging at his eyelashes. Dean wanted to touch the marks and feel the warmth of the skin. But instead he asked, "What's for breakfast?"

Before Castiel could answer, Ash came barging in, panting as he clearly had been running very, very fast, and he screamed in horror, "Kubrick's dead!"

- - -

Kubrick lay facedown near the gate of the house. At first Dean wasn't sure that it was really Kubrick. The clothing suggested an Afghani: tunic, pants, even headscarf. Then he turned the body around and found that it was really Kubrick.

Judging from his physical condition, Dean would say that he had been dead for at least twenty hours, which meant, he died not long after he had breakfast the previous day. Dean couldn't really tell what caused the death except that Kubrick'sheart stopped suddenly. There didn't seem to be any injuries, internal or external, except when he fell and his face hit the tiny rocks between the grasses.

Meanwhile Ash quickly rummaged into Kubrick's clothes, the folds and pockets, and found nothing but a Jesus figurine and a rosary with a silver crucifix. Dean remembered that those two things were missing from Kubrick's personal stuff in the bedroom. He could be leaving his wallet and gun and knife, but he never left the figurine and rosary.

Which meant: Kubrick was really trying to leave. That was why he took his most precious belongings with him.

Meanwhile, Ash looked disappointed to find that Kubrick indeed hadn't stolen anything from the house.

They carried Kubrick's body into the house, to the patio so Castiel could prepare him for the burial. Naturally, no autopsy to determine the cause of the death could be done as no one had the skill. Besides, it didn't seem important. Kubrick's dead, that was the simple reality. Ash took Kubrick's dogtag and pocketed it. Who knows if we'll make it back to the base camp," he said.

"Where are we going to bury him?" asked Dean.

"There," Castiel pointed out at the small forest.

Ash gave Dean a meaningful side-long glance.

They got two shovels from the storeroom and went to the forest. Jake stayed to help Castiel prepare Kubrick for the burial.

"We should be careful that we don't dig someone else's grave," Ash said.

Dean snickered. "I thought that's what you want to do, to get some hard evidence that this area is really a cemetery. Maybe we can find Bill, Victor, and George's bodies here. Or their bones." They were the people in the journal.

Ash gave him a face, then they settled on where to dig.

"I can't believe this," Ash said. "We were in the house, doing things, going on with our lives, and Kubrick died not far from where we were, and it took us twenty hours to find him."

"We didn't expect it," Dean said. He didn't remember if he checked the gate when he searched the yard yesterday.

"Yeah, that's the irony. And what killed him? He was a tough one to kill. He was strong, healthy and he took care of his body. He couldn't just drop and die."

"It could happen."

"Dean, what happened to you? Why don't you get suspicious? Aren't you at least curious? Strange things happen here. Jake's wound healed in a matter of hours. Kubrick died trying to leave the house. There's hot water in the bathroom all the time while there's no electricity or gas here. There's someone else's journal in the library talking about some kind of curse."

Dean didn't know what to say. He just didn't feel any danger in the house and if he didn't feel that way, he didn't know why he had to be so concerned with things. If anything, it was Castiel who should've been afraid of them. But he knew he had to understand Ash' anxiety. '"Okay. Look, if you really want to, after we bury Kubrick, let's leave. Let's go back to the base camp, or at least try to."

Ash looked at him in shock. "Are you crazy? We could bump into some Taliban and get ourselves beheaded."

"So, what's the better option? We don't have any communication means here but our legs."

Ash stopped shovelling and dug his teeth into his lower lip. Castiel and Jake were coming, carrying Kubrick's body, which was wrapped in a clean bedsheet.

Jake fished something out from his shirt pocket. He had been very quiet. Dean knew he was in a big shock. He reached out to hand them toDean. "Here. Kubrick them with him." was the crucifix and rosary.

"You want me to bury them with him?" Dean asked.

"I think that what he must've wanted. He never let anyone touched them. My personal Jesus, he always said."

Dean set the figurine and rosary next to Kubrick and then Ash hauled him up and they finished the burial. Castiel closed his eye with his hands pressed together under his chin, he was reciting something that didn't sound like Arabic or Latin. Jake was praying too, his lips were trembling.

Dean found a small branch of a tree and used it to mark Kubrick's grave. He knew that it wouldn't last long, but at least, for the time being, it would look like a normal grave.

They went back to the house in silence. Dean wondered how many people were buried there and why. Were there also people from the villages around the house? Why did they even bother to take dead bodies that far to get buried? Were there more travelers who didn't have their luck to find Castiel's house before hunger and thirst beat them to death? Or were they like Bobby, Bill, Victor and George? What happened to them? Did they just drop dead in the yard like Kubrick?

Dean wondered if he should read Bobby's journal completely. He wasn't comfortable with reading someone else's journal. He wondered whether Bobby had died too like his friends. Maybe there was a reason he left the journal in the house, maybe he wanted people who had the luck to stumble into the house to learn something.

"I'll prepare something to eat," Castiel said quietly, his voice as gloomy as his face. "I know it's probably difficult," he paused, swallowing hard, "but you didn't have any breakfast and you did some hard works."

"Cas, we're stationed in a war zone," Dean said. "We see dead bodies everyday. If we let that affect our appetite, we would've been dead ourselves a long, long time ago."

Ash nodded although he didn't seem to be as high-spirited as he used to be.

"But you're tired too, so please don't trouble yourself with preparing food for us. We'll do it when we feel like eating something," Dean added, ignoring Ash's face which suddenly looked annoyed.

"It's no trouble at all," Castiel shook his head. "You've done a lot, all I can do is feed you."

"If you insist," Ash quickly said before Dean managed to say something saintly again.

Castiel looked terribly happy now. "Okay." And he went to the kitchen.

Dean decided that if cooking made Castiel happy, then he shouldn't get in the way. In the meantime, he would just take a bath because he reeked of sweat and soil. To stay in the kitchen and later in while he was still dirty like that looked like a dishonor to Castiel's meals.

As usual, he felt better after taking a long hot bath. He wondered if there was something in the water that could lift people's mood and energy. He put on a clean shirt and BDU pants, but he chose a pair of slippers instead of his military boots. He didn't see Bobby's journal on the night stand anymore so he assumed that Ash had put it back wherever he took it from.

As he was passing the weapon room to go back to the kitchen, Dean found himself allured to the weapon room. He didn't know why, he just felt that he needed to take a look at the weapons.

And he found that the empty holder wasn't empty anymore. A beautiful silver knife rested there, shiny and gleaming as if it had just been polished.

Dean stared at the weapon, stunned and amazed. It was one beautiful knife. Simple but very well made. And he knew that Ash was right, one didn't use such weapon to slaughter a goose.

Then, if Castiel didn't use it to slaughter an animal, where had it been previously?

Dean touched the knife very with lightly with his fingertips, feeling the cold metal warm under his skin like a cat curling when someone stroked his neck.

Dean supposed he really shouldn't be bothered too much.

He resumed his trip to the kitchen. When he passed the living room, he steeled himself in order not to poke his head inside to see if the cigar box was there.

Ash and Jake were already in the kitchen when he arrived. Castiel made a huge pot of beef stew and flat bread and Ash and Jake had started to eat without waiting for him. Dean sat down and Castiel put a bowl of the steaming stew in front of him. Then he sat down, keeping his distance from Dean, although he too had a bowl of stew in front of him.

They ate in silence, Jake and Ash seemed to bethinking, although one could tell that they had different concerns. He tried not to think too much, he was still pretty shocked at Kubrick's death but he wouldn't show it to his friends. They would get even more anxious. Instead, he watched Castiel eat and found that it made him happy.

It was Jake who spoke first after he washed his lunch with a glass of ginger ale down the throat. "You see, because I'm good now, I think we should leave. We have disturbed you enough."

Castiel stiffened In his seat. I... I don't mind," he said. He sounded hurt. "I rarely have guests. You are all nice people."

Jake took a deep breath. "Please don't get me wrong. If it's up to me, I would love to stay here for the rest of my life. You're a terrific host, even if we can't do anything to repay your kindness. But we have duties and we should go back." He paused. "We have to report Kubrick's death."

"They might think that we all are dead already," Ash snickered. "We've been missing for … I don't know… four days?"

Dean nodded.

"Well, they'll be in for a big surprise," Jake said.

"Are you really up to walk back to the base-camp?" asked Dean.

Jake nodded confidently. "Yes, I'm sure I can do that."

"Just because the wound has closed doesn't mean that you had completely healed," said Castiel. "You could get an infection, or... or the healing flesh breaks..."

"I'll be fine," Jake held his ground. He could be stubborn when he wanted too. "I just can't let people think that we're all dead while we're not."

Ash laughed. "You sound like you'll make it out alive from this country."

"Why not?" Jake shrugged. "I tell you what. Why don't I go alone, back to the base-camp? It's easier to move when I'm alone. I can disguise myself as local, like Kubrick did. Maybe I can get a horse, or a mule, or a jeep and I'll get to the basecamp faster. Then I'll come back here with an adequate vehicle, a helicopter perhaps, to pick you all up."

Ash curled up his nose.

"Why don't you wait for another day?" Castiel asked carefully. "We're all shocked by Kubrick's death, we might not be thinking clearly right now, no offense. Why don't you take a rest and tomorrow when you're much better, you can go. It'll be much easier for you."

"Sounds like a better idea to me," Ash said.

Jake gave up and agreed.

- - -

Although a nap sounded terrific after spending all morning digging and backfilling, Dean felt restless. He cleaned the kitchen, noticing that Castiel slipped away as soon as he began washing the dishes and that made him laugh under his breath. He was pretty sure that the main reason why Castiel wanted them to stay was so that he could use them to do house chores.

He found that he didn't mind IN the slightest.

With the kitchen clean and shiny, he decided that he could chop some wood or tend to the farm to while away the time and also forget about Kubrick. It was tragic, but he wasn't going to muse over it for the rest of this life. People died. Life went on.

Half way towards the chopping wood place, Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel and turned around to get a better look of him. Castiel was on the patio, Dean just realized that he could see the patio very clearly from where he was standing. Castiel was filling a jug with the water from the fountain. Dean tilted his head, wondering why Castiel used the water from the fountain to fill the jug. Why didn't he use the water in the kitchen? He decided that he would ask Castiel later. He kept on watching until Castiel finish filling the jug and took it inside. He picked up the axe, chose some wood to put on the chopping blocks and began the hard work.

At some point he again caught a glimpse of Castiel at one of the windows on the second floor. He remembered it to be Jake's bedroom. What did Castiel do in Jake's bedroom? Wasn't Jake napping?

Ash showed up, stopping his train of thoughts. From the dirt staining his jeans, Dean could tell Ash had been tending the farm again. Dean put the axe down.

"Did you put the journal back in the library?" Ash asked. "Because I didn't see it in your room or in the library."

Dean frowned. "I thought you put it back in the library."

"Nope," Ash shrugged. "I'll look in the library again."

"I think you should leave it there. You shouldn't read someone else's diary," Dean said.

"He's dead. Bobby."

"We don't know yet."

"If he weren't, he would be very old and probably suffering Alzheimers. Most likely, he didn't sound too sane, all that talk of curses."

"Ash," Dean pursed his lips.

Ash gave him a look, then said, "Okay." He slipped his hands into his pocket, then he furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh I forgot." He fished into his shirt pocket, and pulled out two cigars. "I took them from the living room. Here, have one. Relax a bit." He handed one to Dean. "Now we know that Kubrick didn't steal anything." He grinned.

- - -

Dean wasn't very much into smoking, but he made exceptions for good cigars like the one Ash gave him. He took it to the porch and sat down on the step. He wished he had a beer. He'd kill for a can of very cold Heineken. But he lit it anyway. He took a deep drag and tried not to grin at the rich taste of the tobacco leaves.

"Thanks for chopping some more wood," he heard Castiel speak. Castiel sat next to him and he had a mug in his hand. "Here, I'm sure you need this."

Dean laughed and took the mug. It was cold. It had some gold colored liquid inside that looked suspiciously like beer. "Beer?" he asked, hopeful.

"Apple cider," Castiel answered.

He laughed again and drank it. It was good. Still didn't beat very cold beer though, but he could live with it.

He set the mug on the step and took another deep drag of the cigar. "I saw you in Jake's room," he said before he could stop it.

Castiel gave him a side-long glance. "I saw Ash in your room," he said.

Dean smiled. "I explained."

Castiel shifted his head and stared into the horizon. "Do you want me to explain?" he asked.

Dean laughed. He decided that it was the tobacco that made him feel light and easy to laugh. He leaned his head closer to Castiel and whispered in deep, deep voice, "Are you like… jealous?" Castiel smelled of spice and ash and a little sweat and cotton and musky and lavenderish, and it made Dean feel heady.

Castiel stiffened but he didn't say anything.

Dean sipped his cider again and continued smoking.

"Jake will be ready to travel tomorrow," Castiel said.

"Nice to know that."

Castiel got up. "I'm going to start cooking for dinner."

Dean caught his hand, stopping him. "No, please, don't worry about it. Just sit down with me."

"You'll get hungry soon."

"I've starved before. It won't kill me. Please, just sit down."

Castiel looked at him, flustered, but he sat back down again.

Over the horizon, the Sun had begun to set.

- - -

Naturally, Ash complained at the lack of proper dinner and at the sandwiches Dean prepared from flatbread, cold smoked beef, some lettuces and sliced tomatoes. Castiel looked devastated, but Dean gave him a threatening glare every time he tried to get up from his chair. Meanwhile, Jake looked much, much better than earlier, in fact, Dean had never seen him better before even when they were going through tests to enter Special Force. Jake went about topping up their empty mugs with more ginger ale or cider and slicing tomatoes. Dean was convinced that Castiel would want him to stay here. Jake looked to be the right person to repair the roof and the attics.

At the end, Dean gave up. Castiel got up, saying, "I'm going to make something for Jake to take up tomorrow."

Ash's face lit up right away. "I'll help."

Dean knew that Castiel would end up having to cook double. He got up too. "I'm going to call this a night," he said.

Castiel smiled. "Thanks, for everything."

"No worries," Dean smiled back.

Jake stayed in the kitchen, and Dean had the idea that Castiel would get him to scrub the giant cooking pot that had seen better days.

He went straight to his bedroom, took a bath – he felt like he had grown an addiction to the hot water – and put on a tunic and a pair of loose pants from the wardrobe. He found that they were very comfortable. Maybe they were well-washed before. Well-used too. He only shrugged and went to the window.

The full moon had changed into half-moon, sort of, although Dean believed that it was more the clouds that hid half of the moon behind it. He could see the rocky mountains from where he was standing, but he couldn't see the snow topped peaks.

He suddenly wanted to go up the tower to have a good look of the mountains. He was so going to miss the mountains. He missed them already. However, he wondered if Castiel would allow him to go up there himself. There seemed to be some secrets etched along the walls of the corridors that led to the tower.

He was about to leave the window and go to the bed when he saw a silhouette of someone entering the patio. He thought at first that it was Castiel, judging from the gamis the person was wearing, after all it was too dark in the patio to see things clearly. Besides, his bedroom was pretty far from the patio. But he stared until he could see that it was Jake and Jake was filling his water bottle with the water from the fountain.

"Anything interesting?" again, Castiel's voice behind him surprised him. Dean turned around, smiling sheepishly like a little boy getting caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "No. Just Jake. He's filling his water bottle with the water from the fountain."

Somehow that surprised Castiel. "No, he can't do that. He shouldn't do that."

Dean frowned. "Why? You gave him water from the fountain," he pointed out.

"Yes, but..."

"Am I disturbing?" Dean heard Ash ask. He turned his head to see his friend standing at the door.

"No, no, we're just talking," he said. Castiel didn't look too happy to see Ash.

"I can come back later," Ash mentioned and that made Dean want to laugh.

"Why?" he said as he casually took Castiel's hand and led him to the bed. "Why don't you just sleep in your bedroom?"

Ash looked shocked. "Are you kidding?"

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you scared, Ash?"

"Dean, we have just buried Kubrick today," Ash blurted.

Dean nodded. "So you're scared."

Ash sighed but he definitely wouldn't admit that he was scared.

"Okay," Dean shrugged, then looked at Castiel.

"I… I'll go back to my room," Castiel pulled his hand from Dean's.

Dean smiled gently. "There's plenty of space in the bed."

"Yeah, right," Ash quickly padded towards the bed and climbed up. "You can sleep in the middle."

"I can read you a bedtime story," Dean added.

Castiel smiled. "If you wish."

Ash groaned. "But not that scary story about the Wendigo again," he said as he slid under the blanket.

"What about the Wendigo?" Castiel asked as he climbed up the bed and settled between Ash and Dean.

"Ah, we were young and we were stupid," Dean started.

"Yeah, damn right. You and Sam. Stupidest people on earth."

"But we survived," Dean insisted.

"What's a Wendigo?" asked Castiel.

"A Wendigo is a human who turns into a monster because it consumes human's flesh in order to stay alive," Ash said before Dean could beat him into it. "And indeed they live forever."

"Oh," Castiel chuckled.

"But that's not even the scary part," Ash added.

"Are you going to tell him or are you going to let me tell him?" Dean cut in.

"Yeah, okay, right. You're there, you can say things accurately. I'm still in the opinion that you and Sam are the stupidest people in the world," Ash said as he pulled the blanket up his head. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Good," Dean mocked him.

Castiel looked to want to laugh but he didn't. Dean shifted closer to him.

"So what's the story?" asked Castiel.

"Well, like I have just told you, we were young and we were stupid," Dean pulled up the blanket to cover his and Castiel's heads and when he heard Ash moan, he threw his leg over Castiel's and kicked Ash's leg.

- - -

He must've been sleeping for only a couple of hours when he woke up. His watch told him that it was a little before midnight. Castiel slept soundly next to him, he looked peaceful and terribly happy. He wasn't disturbed at the slightest by Ash' loud snoring.

Dean got out the bed, putting on the slippers and walked out of the bedroom. He went to Jake's. The door to Jake's bedroom was slightly ajar, so Dean took a peek and saw that Jake wasn't sleeping. He was reading.

He knocked on the door gently and announced his name and Jake told him to come in.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Dean asked.

"I couldn't," Jake shook his head. He had put his book aside and Dean could see that it was a Tom Clancy novel, not anything from the library. "I tried. I couldn't. I feel like a five year old getting too excited at the thought of going on a camp tomorrow."

"But you will need the energy," Dean pointed.

Jake shook his head again. "I feel very strong. I've never felt this healthy before."

"That's good, but I'm still in the opinion of..."

"I'm fine, Dean. I know it's the water that heals me. Castiel cleaned my wound using the water from the fountain. It has a thorough effect in the body. Imagine if I drink it."

"Oh yeah, about the water. I saw you filling your bottle with the water from the fountain."

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't."

"Who told you that?"

"Castiel."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"I don't know. He said you should've taken the water from the kitchen."

Jake frowned. "What's the difference?"

"I don't know, but he's our host and we have to respect him."

"It's only water and I only took a bottle. There's plenty more in the fountain, it's like a spring, it doesn't stop. I'm going to need the water to survive the desert."

"Can you put the water back in the fountain and refill your bottle with the stuff from the kitchen? Please?"

Jake looked at him like he was out of his mind, but he said,"Okay. If that worries you so much." He climbed out of the bed and took his water bottle.

Dean wanted to follow him to the kitchen and make sure that he swapped the water, but he decided that he should trust Jake.

He went back to his bedroom and snuggled next Castiel, breathing the scent of his body as he slowly drifted back to dreamland.

- - -

Castiel woke him up. Judging from the dark sky outside the window, it wasn't even dawn yet.

"Jake's gone," Castiel whispered.

"What?" Dean jumped out of the bed. At the other side of the bed, Ash rolled over, muttering something incoherent in his sleep.

"Jake's gone," Castiel repeated as if Dean was too dumb for words. "He's not in his bedroom. I checked." He stopped. "He took the water with him."

Dean looked up. "He had swapped the water with the one from the fountain," he said.

Castiel frowned. "Did you see it with your own eyes?" he asked.

That stabbed like a Swiss army knife to his guts.

"He should've taken the water from the kitchen, not the fountain," Castiel said.

"What's with the water from the fountain anyway? Anything I should've known?" Dean snapped. "He's going to brave the desert, he needs water to survive, I don't see the difference between the water from the fountain or the kitchen."

"The water is…," Castiel started again, but Ash interrupted him, "Look, if you want to have some lovey dovey fight, do it somewhere else. I'm trying to sleep here."

- - -

Dean took time to take a leak in the bathroom, wash his face and brush his teeth. When he exited the bathroom, Castiel was standing rigid by the door. Dean took his hand, closed it around his fingers to soothe him and led him out of the bedroom.

Jake had taken his stuff with him, there was nothing left, as if he didn't plan to come back. Dean didn't blame him. He sat down at the edge of the bed, thinking.

"If you're so worried about the water, I can go after him and take the water back," he said.

Now Castiel looked at him with horror in his face. "You're leaving too?"

Dean got up. "If I have to."

"No, actually, the water isn't so important."

"You don't seem to think so," Dean teased him.

Castiel's face flushed deeply. He turned around, giving Dean his back. "I'll go prepare breakfast."

Dean let him go. He watched as Castiel glided away, then he took a deep breath.

He searched Jake's bedroom once again, making sure that he didn't miss anything, then he left, closing the door tightly behind him. The room next to Jake's was Kubrick's former bedroom. The door was ajar.

Without thinking, Dean entered the bedroom. It was still as it was when he searched the room the day before. They hadn't decided what to do with Kubrick's stuff. Dean supposed if they left it there, there should be no problem. Except, well, Castiel might not like to keep a dead man's stuff.

He was already at the door when he felt something familiar. He turned around and saw the Jesus figurine and rosary with silver crucifix on the nightstand.

- - -

Dean didn't go to the kitchen right away. He decided to check the yard, the gate and the whole perimeter. He didn't find Jake's dead body at the gate like Kubrick, but that didn't make him feel relieved. They didn't know about Kubrick until after twenty hours, although he had searched the entire estate.

He stood, staring at the cemetery, wondering if he should go after Jake. He didn't really want to go. He felt... happy there. He had never felt like that before, although he had grown up in a perfect American family. But there was something about Castiel, he seemed lonely and could use some company, and he didn't mind doing that.

He supposed he could send Ash to go after Jake, but that would be selfish, like plunging Ash into a pool of crocodiles. He didn't doubt Ash's combat skill, it was just that if it was his idea to go after Jake, he was the one to do it.

He would come back here to collect Ash. He just needed to make sure that Jake was all right. And maybe he could talk Castiel to go with him to Kansas City. That would be perfect.

He went to the kitchen.

Castiel cooked enough for a party of fifty. He seemed to be very distraught that he used cooking to calm down. He didn't even seem to notice that Dean had arrived in the kitchen and sit at the table until he turned around and almost squeaked in surprise.

"I didn't see you coming," he said.

"You were busy," Dean smiled. "What do we have to do with these?" he jerked his chin at the food on the table.

"Eat them?" Castiel offered an opinion.

Dean laughed. Castiel took the coffee pot and poured a cup for him. "Anyway," Dean said as he entertained himself with the intoxicating aroma of the steaming coffee, "I'll go to make sure that Jake is all right."

Castiel put the coffee pot on the table, his fingers were trembling.

"I'll come back," Dean tried to sound convincing.

"And just how are you going to find Jake?" asked Ash who showed up in the kicthen like a Jack in the box.

Dean shrugged.

"I drew Jake a map last night," Castiel said. "If he follows the map, he'll be in Badakshtan around mid-day today."

"Maybe the cell phones work outside this area," Dean said. "We have a sattelite uplinked ones."

"Then maybe I should go," Ash offered. "I missed my cell phones."

"Worth bumping into some Taliban?" Dean mocked him.

Ash shrugged.

"I'm sure Jake will be fine," Castiel said as he sat down at the table.

"Let's wait for a couple of days. If help doesn't arrive, one of us should go find Jake," Ash said.

"Fair enough," Dean nodded.

- - -

Ash mentioned that he didn't want to work in the farm again, so Dean volunteered. He noticed that some crops were ready to harvest: potatoes, carrots and parsnips. He was becoming a big fan of food made from freshly cut crops like that. Just thinking about baked potatoes with melted cheese on top made his stomach grumble although he had just had a huge breakfast.

He was about to carry the basket full of crops to the kitchen when Ash showed up. He was waving Bobby's journal. "I found it," he said.

"Where is it?" asked Dean.

"In the library," Ash answered, shrugging. "I didn't remember putting it back there."

"Maybe Cas did. After all, you're stealing his books."

Ash looked offended. "I'm only borrowing them, okay?" He saw down on a rock and began thumbing the pages of the journal.

Dean said. "I gotta take this to the kitchen. You don't really need an audience for your reading session, do you?"

Ash stared at the book. "I'll read it later then."

Dean laughed. "Why is it so important that I should listen to your reading? Why don't you just read it and give it to me later to read?"

"It's not fun that way," Ash closed the journal and slipped it into the back pocket of the jeans.

"Whatever," Dean shrugged. "I gotta take a bath after this. You can meet me in the bedroom if you want."

"Okay."

Dean was half-way towards the kitchen when Ash called his name out. "What?" he yelled back, turning around.

"Do you think Cas is also Christian?" Ash asked as he jogged towards Dean.

"I don't know. Why does it matter now?"

"Because, I found a Jesus figurine and a rosary in the library, just like the ones Kubrick had."

- - -

Dean thought that he shouldn't do it, it was like doubting Castiel. He still thought that as guests, they really shouldn't stick their noses where they shouldn't. But he couldn't hold himself back. He took a bath after delivering the crops to Castiel, then he went to the library.

Like Ash said, the Jesus figurine and rosary sat on a small table and they looked exacly like Kubrick's. The more he examined them, the longer he stared at them, the more he was convinced that they were Kubrick's. But how could they be Kubrick's? He put them next to Kubrick's body before filling the hole with soil. He buried them with Kubrick. How on Earth did they find their way back to the library? Did Castiel dig them out of the grave? He didn't think so.

Even from the library, he could smell the aroma of lunch being cooked. He smiled. It was always a pleasure to try to guess what Castiel cooked. Castiel never seemed to run out of ideas or ingredients. He wouldn't be surprised if one day Castiel served them sardines or salmons.

He walked slowly towards the kitchen, entertaining himself with the aroma. They said anticipation was already half the fun, and he took his sweet time for that. Still, hunger didn't stop him from visiting the weapon room again. After all, it was next to the library.

There was nothing unordinary about the weapon room. Dean had reached the point where he had memorized everything, not only the kind of weapons but also where they were placed.

He started examining them one by one, not sure what he was looking for. The weapons seemed to have come from various era, different timelines. He stopped at what looked like a hunting knife, also made of silver. It wasn't like the knife that was thought to be missing the other day, it was a different kind of knife. It was big and bulky and Dean could imagine it was used to hunt big bears like kodak or grizzly. The handle was covered by leather and he noticed a small engraving at the base of the blade.

He lifted it up and tried to read it. It said: Ellen & Bill, 1970.

- - -

on to part three


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Precious, part 3 of 3  
**Author: **clueless_psycho  
**Fandom/Genre: **Supernatural, AU/Drama/Slash  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel  
**Rating: **R  
**Word Count: **20,304  
**Warnings: **AU, deaths, but not the major one, war, gore 

The potatoes, carrots and parsnips were roasted with garlic and onions, seasoned only with salt and pepper in order to keep their natural flavors as much as possible, and there was a whole roasted chicken and more flatbread to go with them. Castiel also made banana cake for dessert and Dean wasn't going to question where did the banana come from.

As he was cleaning the kitchen later after lunch, Dean decided that he had to start paying attention to what he ate and he had to exercise again, because otherwise he would end up obese in that house. It was true that there were lots of things to do in the house, there were endless chores, however, it was not like a real exercise. He would ask Ash to spar with him tomorrow.

That's if Jake didn't show up.

He knew he shouldn't feel pessimistic but he had the feeling Jake would never come back. Either he got sidetracked or he couldn't find his way back here or their superior in the base camp didn't think it was important to collect him and Ash. It was a scary thought but he knew that if they didn't hear from Jake, the day after tomorrow he and Ash just had to risk it and leave the house to find their way back to the base camp.

The thought of leaving Castiel alone in that house felt rather unbearable.

He found a bottle of cooled cider and took it to the back porch with him. He sat down on the step, like he did yesterday, and drank the cider as he watched Castiel from afar. Castiel was collecting dry laundry: bed sheets, pillow cases and clothes, piling them in a large basket.

Gulping half of the bottle content, Dean left it on the porch and was headed to Castiel. He pulled a dry bed sheet from the clothesline, folded it carelessly and put it on top of the pile in the basket. Castiel smiled at him.

"Do you often have guests?" he asked Castiel.

Castiel tilted his head, his expression flat. "Guests?"

"Yes. Do you often have them?" Dean asked. "You know, travelers who got lost in this area, like us? Perhaps?"

Castiel didn't look at him when he said, "No."

"I saw stuff in the library and the weapon room," Dean pushed his luck. "They have someone else's names on them."

"I can't remember everything."

"And the forest there," Dean jerked his chin towards the cemetery, "how many people have you buried there?"

Castiel didn't answer. He was still avoiding Dean's eyes.

"Cas," Dean pursed his lips. "Tell me something about you. And the house. Make me understand."

Castiel lowered his eyes. He took a deep breath, then he said, "But why should I tell you about myself and this house? You're going to leave."

And then he walked away, leaving Dean with the laundry basket.

- - -

Castiel looked calmer when Dean saw him in the kitchen. He was reading a book. Dean put the basket on the table, and Castiel looked up from the book, asking, "What do you want for dinner?"

Dean smiled. "What do you do when you have no one else in the house?" he asked back. "Do you cook too?"

Castiel closed the book. The leather cover had "Recipes" written on it.

"Let's do something different," Dean said. "Let's do a barbecue outside. It looks to be a clear night. It'll be perfect for barbecue."

Castiel looked out of the window. "I think you're right," he said quietly.

"I'll prepare the grill," Dean said. "Will the patio be all right?"

Castiel nodded, he looked happy.

He went to get Ash so Ash could help Castiel with the food while he would work on making a grill. Ash had his nose buried deep in the books in the library.

"The problem with these books is, they were mostly written in Sabean," he tapped his fingers on the page he was reading.

Dean tilted his head. "Sabean?"

"Yes. It's a very old language, like Hebrew and it was a language of power. Most wizards and witches use this language."

Dean chuckled. "So you really believed that this house was once owned by a wizard?"

Ash snorted. "I really wish now that I studied Sabean instead of Latin and Hebrew, however, those languages seem more important than others and there isn't actually anyone teaching Sabean. And this symbol, the symbol that's drawn all over this house, I think it's a binding symbol."

"Binding from what?" Dean asked.

Ash shrugged. "I think it's binding what," he said.

"Okay. Do you think you can take a break from trying to figure out what is what in those books?" Dean asked.

Ash frowned at him. "Why?"

"I told Castiel that maybe we can have a barbecue for dinner, for a change. I'm going to prepare a grill on the patio. Can you help Cas with the food? He might not have any idea what kind of marinades he would need for a certain meat."

Ash grinned from ear to ear. "Just leave it to me then," he closed the book. "I'm the king of barbecue."

And he waltzed away from Dean.

- - -

Despite that there were only the three of them and there was a lack of beer or other alcoholic drinks, the barbecue was a blast. Ash made beef patties, salad, a big bowl of barbecue sauce, and iced lemon tea, and Castiel made more bread, real bread this time, not only flatbread. Dean grilled the beef patties non-stop and they also had fish and chicken. Ash said that if there was a guitar he would play it and sing. Dean was glad that there was no guitar. laughed at Ash's non-stop jokes even at the ones that Dean thought weren't funny at all. However, if Castiel was happy, then he was happy too and he felt he could live like that for the rest of his life.

It was about midnight when they finally called it a night and left the patio in a mess. Dean went to his bedroom, took a bath, changed his clothes and found that Ash had made himself home in his bed again. He was sleeping with his hand clutching Bobby's journal. Maybe he was about to read some to Dean but his eyes couldn't hold on waiting for Dean to come out of the bedroom.

Dean pulled the book from Ash's hand. He didn't mean to open it, but it flipped open anyway and he ended up reading the page.

_March fifteen. In the morning Victor told me that Bill's knife is in the room holding the weapon collection. I mentioned to him it isn't possible, we buried the knife with him. I told him that he could be seeing a similar thing. Victor insisted that it's Bill knife, so we went to the room together so I can prove it with my own eyes. Indeed the knife is there and there's no mistake that it's Bill's knife. It has Ellen & Bill 1970 craved at the base of the blade, it was Ellen's gift to Bill when they got married last year. But how come something we have buried to resurface? Maybe there's indeed some ghosts or spirits living in this house. Maybe Bill didn't die peacefully, maybe his ghost still stayed to tell us something. We should've salted and burned Bill's body and the knife so the soul won't come back to haunt us._

Dean dug his teeth into his lower lip, thinking. Could it be that the Jesus figurine and rosary were really Kubrick's and they resurfaced although he had buried them with him?

He closed the book and put it on the nightstand, then he went to Castiel's bedroom.

- - -

To his surprise, Castiel's bedroom was much simpler than the bedrooms he and his friends stayed in. The bed wasn't as big and it was without a canopy. The furniture wasn't richly carved, they seemed to have been made of left-over planks and woods.

"Why didn't you take any of the bedrooms?" Dean asked as he climbed into the bed. He hoped the bed was sturdy enough to hold his and Castiel's weight together.

"Because I'm not supposed to," Castiel answered. He carefully sat down on the bed, as if he was afraid it would fall off. "I'm only a servant."

"A servant to whom? There's nobody else here," Dean reached out for Castiel's arm, hinting him to get closer.

"There doesn't need to be anyone else here," Castiel answered. He lay next to Dean.

"Then why didn't you escape? Try to break free?" He stared into Castiel's eyes, searching for the answers to the many questions written all over this house.

"I'm not a slave, why should I try to break free?" Castiel asked back.

Dean smiled, then he shifted closer. "Are you still going to tell me some bedtime stories?"

Castiel's eyes softened. "What do you want me to tell you about?"

"The tower. The window."

"Mujahidin blew it off," Castiel said solemnly. "Or maybe it was Gengis Khan's soldiers. I don't remember. It was a very long time ago." Castiel rolled his eyes, amusement flickering inside the blueness, betraying his flat expression.

"Liar," Dean whispered, then he laughed.

Castiel rolled around, giving him his back. Dean pressed his chest there, snaking his arms around Castiel's shoulders. The bed wasn't comfortable but this was how he wanted to sleep for the rest of his life.

- - -

Dean woke up before dawn and as much as he wanted to just stay in bed with Castiel, he forced himself to climb out of the bed and returned to his bedroom. Ash was still sleeping too, snoring loudly as usual, so Dean went to use the bathroom and changed his clothes into t-shirt and BDU pants and put on his boots. Then he went running.

It was still dark outside but darkness had never bothered him at the slightest, not even now that he knew the small forest was a cemetery and Kubrick was among the dead buried there. He ran along the perimeter, carefully scanned the area with his eyes, making sure that if Jake's dead body was there, he didn't miss it. No dead body meant that Jake may survive until Badakshtan and soon he would come back to collect them.

But if he didn't come back tomorrow, either he or Ash had to go.

Dean stopped himself from thinking about the latter, he really didn't want to choose whether to stay or to leave, he didn't want to have to make the decision, knowing either way, someone would get hurt. He circled the area once again, then he jogged towards the kitchen where Castiel was waiting with two mugs of warm milk.

"You could've woken me up before leaving," Castiel said. "I almost got a heart attack, thinking that you're gone too like Jake."

"I will tell you if I'm really going to leave."

Castiel gave him a look of disbelief, then he went to the stove to start preparing breakfast.

Dean went to the bedroom to take a shower. He was on his way back to the kitchen when he saw that the mess in the patio hadn't been cleared. Typical Castiel, he must've expected him to clean it. He didn't mind, after all, he was the one who came up with the barbecue idea.

He started collecting dirty plates and glasses and put together left-overs in a bowl. He was picking up a spoon from the floor when he saw Jake's water bottle leaning at the pond wall.

Frowning, he picked up the bottle. The weight told him that it was still full. He didn't remember seeing it there last night. Had Jake forgotten about the bottle after filling it up? If he had, how did he survive the desert?

But the water bottle clarified one thing: Jake didn't survive. Jake couldn't survive without water.

But he should realize that he had left the water bottle and he should've come back.

Dean sat down on the edge of the wall, breathing slowly, eventually, trying not to think the worse.

But it was very obvious: Jake's dead. His water bottle was here. If he didn't die from thirst, he would've been murdered by the Taliban from whom he might ask for water.

It felt like the world had suddenly stopped moving and time froze and there was no air to breathe in.

Dean closed his eyes and heard Ash shouting, "Dean! Dean! Where are you?"

He opened his eyes just as Ash barged into the patio and Ash saw the water bottle. He gasped with his eyes widened, then he ran away.

- - -

By the time Dean reached the bedroom, which was only a few second behind Ash, Ash had stuffed his belongings into his backpack.

"You know what? I've enough of this. I'm leaving. I don't care if you want to stay here. I don't want to die here!" Ash blurted frantically.

"Ash, listen to me," Dean grabbed his shoulders, trying to stop him. "Listen to me!" Ash stopped and glared at him. "Just calm down for a while and we'll talk about this, okay?"

"I don't see why I should talk about this. It's obvious. People died here. It's written in Bobby's journal. His friends died. He probably died too. And they were all buried there!" Ash jerked his chin towards the window. "I don't want to live in a house where there's a cemetery nearby with probably five hundred dead people who all died here!"

"Ash…" Dean took a deep breath, exercising patience.

'Dean, how could you be so blind? Cas must've bound us with a spell. This house is bound by a magic spell that no one can break. We will all die here and will be buried in the cemetery. Perhaps that's the price Cas had to pay to live happily ever after. You know what? That makes me feel like Hanzel. He feeds us with good food because he's going to slaughter us and give our blood and soul to whatever devil he's worshipping in order to stay young and alive. I don't want to be the one next on the chopping block." Ash shook his shoulders, freeing himself from Dean's strong grip. "And if I have to fight you or kill you to be able to get free, I'll do it."

Dean let it go. "Ash, look, this is not wise."

"Yeah. But I don't wanna be wise and dead. I'm going." Ash zipped up the backpack and hauled it up his shoulders. "You see, I think Castiel is also a Wendigo, except that he uses magic to change his appearance."

"You can get caught by the Taliban out there!"

"I. Don't. Care. Good bye, Dean," and Ash brushed past and exited the bedroom. "And good luck surviving." He ran. Dean didn't get to stop him, so he ran after Ash.

But Ash was faster. They ran along the corridor and when they were descending the stairway, Dean took the chance and jumped up and they fell, rolling down the stairway to the floor.

A book flopped from an unzipped pocket of the backpack. Dean quickly noticed that it wasn't Bobby's journal, but a book with strange characters on its leather cover.

Ash pushed him away with all his might and grabbed the book. Clutching the book with his hand, he got up and escaped. He was as slippery as an eel.

"Ash! Put the book back in the library!" Dean called out as he made to get up too.

Ash took time to turn around and give him a mocking glare. "This is the book Bobby talked about in his journal. I'm taking it and I'm going to find out what is it all about!"

"You can't!"

But Ash had walked out of the door. Dean sped up, trying to catch up with him. But when he reached the door, Ash had disappeared between the trees. He called out Ash' name as he ran towards the gate.

But Ash was nowhere to be seen.

- - -

Again, Dean went to check the house's perimeter, looking for any signs of Ash. Or Jake. But he couldn't find neither. No matter how fast Ash ran, he didn't think Ash could be that far that he couldn't see him at all from where he was standing at the gate.

He leaned on the gate, suddenly not knowing what to do. He supposed he should step out and find Ash. But he couldn't. What if he dropped dead like Kubrick? He found that he couldn't even think of leaving the house, leaving Castiel, dead or not.

The air hung heavily around him, making him feel suffocated and high up in the sky, the clouds were pregnant with rain. He decided that he just had to let it pass for the time being and hoped that Ash would survive.

He went back to the house, ignoring the hollowness that the house suddenly felt now that there were only Castiel and himself inside.

"Ash's gone," he informed Castiel as he sat down at the table in the kitchen. The air was thick with an aroma that suspiciously smelled like fried sausages. Castiel was still working at the stove and he didn't turn his head when he heard it. It was almost as if he had expected it. "He took a book from the library with him. I found Jake's water bottle in the patio."

Castiel put a plate in front of him and much to his surprise, it indeed consisted of scrambled eggs, fried sausages and toasts. All American breakfast minus bacon strips. Dean forced himself to smile. "Thanks for the effort," he said. He felt nauseous, like his stomach flipped and churned. He didn't really want to eat.

"May not taste as good as what you usually have in your hometown," Castiel commented as he poured a cup of coffee for Dean.

"Jake's dead, isn't he?" he asked, ignoring the food.

Castiel stiffened. "I don't know."

"His water bottle's back to this house. Just like Kubrick's Jesus figurine and rosary."

Castiel set the coffee pot on the table and sat down.

"Tell me about the house," Dean said.

"Maybe you should eat first," Castiel said. "You must be hungry."

"I don't want to eat not knowing what happens to Jake and Ash," Dean steeled his heart. "You know, don't you?"

Castiel tilted his head, as if considering whether it was worth it to tell the story. Dean supposed that it shouldn't matter anymore, whether or not he knew the story.

Castiel's voice floated in the air when he spoke again, "This house was owned by a wizard, a long, long time ago."

So what was written in Bobby's journal was true. Dean wanted to comment but he held his tongue back.

"He was strong and powerful and greedy and arrogant. He collected… things… from around the world, not only weapons. He loved his collection so much that he didn't want anyone to take them away from him even after he died. So he put a spell all over the house, all over the whole land."

"The symbol on the bed's ceiling?" Dean asked before he could stop himself.

"You can't take away anything from the house," Castiel continued, ignoring Dean's question. "You'll die trying."

It was a little hard to swallow and he was glad he hadn't started eating. "Kubrick didn't steal anything, we didn't find anything that belonged to this house amongst his possession," Dean said. "Jake swapped the water. Ash took a book, but I haven't found his dead body."

Castiel took a deep breath. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked, sounding helpless.

Dean picked up his fork. "Where's your food?"

"I ate already."

"Liar." Dean cut one sausage into three and stabbed one piece with his fork. "Open your mouth."

"No, please."

"Eat or I won't."

Castiel opened his mouth and took the sausage inside, chewing it slowly. Dean ate the other two pieces. He felt that he wasn't actually nauseous.

"So why did Kubrick die?" he asked.

"Kubrick stole the knife. The knife went back to the room by itself. So did the cigar. It's part of the spell."

"And now the water also had made its way back to the house,' Dean added.

"The wizard… he was a greedy man. Anything belonged to the thief would be possessed by the house when the thief died."

Dean put his fork down. That explained a lot. The clothes Ash wore, Bill's hunting knife, Bobby's journal, Kubrick's figurine and rosary. He drank his coffee. Putting the cup down, he talked again, "So you're saying, if you steal something from this house, you'll die. What if you don't steal anything?"

Castiel tilted his head, looking straight into Dean's eyes. "But, can you not try to steal anything from this house?"

- - -

Dean supposed, Castiel was right. There were way too many temptations in the house. Even if you, say, didn't like weapons, you have to admit the fact that the katana may worth two million dollars. THere were other things, jewels, art and the books. It was easy to just slide them into your backpack and walk away.

The knife that had gone and resurfaced probably belonged to King Arthur, several lifetime ago.

Even the water, people must have known that the water in the fountain healed wounds and illness. It was easy to fill a bottle with it, pocket it and leave.

Except that no one ever made it and left alive. They all died. They ended up buried in the yard.

Dean could see the reasons. Kubrick stole the knife and cigars because he was greedy and he loved luxury. He could sell the knife in the black market and net half amillion dollars and change retiring from the army to spend the rest of his life in the Bahamas. Jake stole the water because it healed and although originally he only needed something to get through to the nearest village, he could sell the water too for a fortune once he was back in the US.

Ash stole the book because it was the root of all knowledge. Ash was like that.

And they all didn't make it to the next day.

He wanted to believe that Jake and Ash survived but as he entered Jake's bedroom and saw his back pack on the bed, he knew that it was an empty hope.

Now he knew how Bobby felt at having to bury his friends. He hoped that Kubrick was the only one he had to bury.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, breathing slowly as if every pull was precious to him.

He supposed Castiel must've been alive because he figured that he should've just stayed in the house rather than stealing something and leave. Or maybe he didn't dare to know whether he could make it alive if he left the house without stealing anything.

Had Castiel buried his friends too? Was he like Bobby who came to this place on his own will or was he like him, bumping into this place accidentally? How long had he been here? Probably not long, he didn't look much older than Dean.

He shook his head to stop his train of thoughts. He was hungry but he didn't want to eat. Not until he knew what happened to Ash.

He wondered, if it took them twenty hours to find Kubrick dead at the gate and almost the same amount of time to know that Jake might not survive, how long would it take him to find out that Ash was dead?

- - -

He saw the book just as the Sun was setting down. It lay on footpath that led towards the gate, as if it had been walking slowly and was taking a break before it continued to the library. Dean practically ran out of the house. He picked up the book and ran to the gate.

Dean couldn't describe how it felt, to see Ash there, on the grass and he was as stiff as a candle. He crouched down and cradled Ash's head, holding back tears, wishing he could still feel blood gushing inside his veins, under the skin. But there was nothing anymore, there was no life anymore, no breath, no blood current. Ash had died trying to leave the house, trying to steal something from the house. He didn't even know whether he had to say something, but he knew that Ash couldn't hear him anymore so he rocked for a while, which was more to calm himself down.

Then he carried Ash into the house. Castiel met him in the foyer, he didn't say anything, he just took Ash' backpack and the book and set them aside. Dean carried him to the patio and laid him on the floorjust like Kubrick the day before.

"It's too late for the burial, isn't it?" Castiel asked.

Indeed it had gotten dark and they just had to go through the night with Ash's corpse on the patio.

"You can rest, I'll take care of this," Castiel said. "I've cooked dinner if you want to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

Castiel looked at him for awhile, then he asked, "Could you get me some bedsheets and a water jug please?"

Now Dean knew why there were so many bedsheets in the house. It was practical.

Dean wanted to tell Castiel that he didn't want to take any orders from Castiel anymore, he wanted to just stay there and mourn because Ash was his friend and Ash had been a good friend to him, weirdness aside, and Ash was young and should've had a great future, he wanted to start his own online game if he made it out alive from Afghanistan, but he didn't and...

But Dean Castiel was right. Perhaps it would be easier for him if he do something rather than staying here and at Ash's rigid body, wishing that this was unreal. Maybe he didn't have to know that Ash had gone, forever, and he wouldn't be coming back, for eternity.

He got up and went to find the bedsheets and the water jug for Castiel. He ignored the food Castiel had cooked for him. He didn't want to eat anymore, knowing that there would be no Ash to share the food with.

When he got back to the patio, Castiel had stripped Ash' clothes. He asked Dean to fill the jug with water from the fountain and he did, like a robot. When Castiel wiped Ash's body with the water, Dean wished, he wished that Ash came back to life because perhaps the water didn't only heal wounds but also brought back lives.

But Ash lay stiff and cold.

He stayed still, watching Castiel work. It took sometime until he finally calmed down, that he didn't have to make too much effort to hold back tears. He rubbed his face and took a deep breath.

Castiel wrapped Ash tightly with the bed sheet and asked Dean to get a blanket to cover Ash for the night.

Dean obeyed.

When Castiel's done, he said, "I think it's better if you take a break. You'll have a hard day tomorrow."

Dean looked up, staring at Castiel, not being able to talk.

"You're going to have to dig the grave for Ash," Castiel said.

- - -

He didn't sleep that night, he stayed next to Ash with a candle to give some lights, while Castiel retreated to his bedroom. He tried not to think too much. He supposed he should pray, he still remembered some basic prayers, both in English and in Latin.

But he also knew that Ash didn't need any prayers. For him, everything had finished. If he prayed, it was for himself.

When the morning broke, Dean went up to his bedroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, then he went to get a shovel from the kitchen. There was a glass of warm milk on the table and a basket of flatbread, fresh from the oven, or so it looked, although Dean believed now that Castiel didn't need any oven or stove or even flour and eggs to make bread. He ignored them and walked out to the back yard.

The Sun was still slowly rising at the horizon, there was a soft pink color at the base of the sky, if the sky had any base.

He stood for countless minutes staring at the trees that marked the forest. Castiel had never said it was a cemetery. Ash made the assumption. He just had to believe it. Except that, he didn't want to believe it.

Absent-minded, he began exploring the small forest. He checked the trees one by one, not knowing what to look for, not ready to find anything. He knew that perhaps he should just try to dig, but then, if there were really dead bodies other than Kubrick's there, it would be a disrespect to the dead.

He finally stopped and went to where Kubrick was buried. He chose a patch of land and began digging, hoping that he didn't dig up someone else's grave. It was difficult to dig a grave all by himself, more difficult because he had a thousand emotions swirling inside him with sadness as the most overwhelming one of all.

He was half-way through when his shovel hit something and he cleared the soil and pulled out a silver flask. He brought it closer to his eyes and read "Robert Steven Singer, 1965" engraved there.

Dean sat on the ground. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or shout in anger. It was like a joke to him. Everything that belonged to the dead people went back to the house. Except Bobby's flask. Did Bobby die clutching the flask so tightly that even the spell couldn't take it out of him?

Whatever.

But now he knew that Bobby was dead too.

- - -

He helped Castiel carry Ash from the patio and once again, he descended into the grave to arrange Ash's position while Castiel watched. Then he shoved soil to cover Ash completely, while Castiel chanted his strange prayers. He didn't bury any of Ash's possessions with him, he knew that they would just resurface the next day or so and he didn't want to know that.

"Why didn't you mark the graves?" asked Dean as he jabbed a tree branch on to Ash's grave. It felt like a millennium since he last spoke to Castiel, yet it was only last night.

"Because it's too hurtful to remember," Castiel answered quietly.

"Did you bury them all?" asked Dean.

Castiel didn't answer.

"Will you bury me if I die here?" asked Dean.

"I hope I don't have to do that, but yes, I will."

Dean left Castiel in the cemetery. He went to the foyer to collect the book Ash tried to steal from the library. He left Ash's backpack where Castiel left it. He didn't know what to do with it. Castiel would know.

He went up to the library to put the book back in the shelf, but he found himself sitting on the sofa there, breathing hard. It was surreal, the whole thing was surreal. He opened the book, flipped the pages open, unable to read the characters or understand the symbols. He wished he had internet. It was easy to find almost anything in the interest these days.

A piece of paper fell from between the yellowish pages to Dean's lap. It was almost as yellow as the book pages. Dean took it and recognized Bobby's handwriting.

_Page 53_

I'm binding you here  
So you will live on even after I have left this world  
You will watch my prizes  
You will not be able to take my prizes away  
No one will be able to take my prizes away  
For my prizes are precious

Bobby must have been trying to translate the book. He opened the book again, thumbed it until he found page fifty three and saw the same symbol with the one on his bedroom's canopy with a row of characters next to it. That must be the spell.

Dean took a deep breath. Immortality sounded a very long time. It must've been very lonely when you have to go through it without a company.

He put the book on his lap and leaned back. He saw Bobby's journal on the table, it was open.

He supposed that there was no harm anymore in reading the journal now that he had known that Bobby was dead too. He took it and read the open page.

_March thirteen. We're finally here, in the house. It sort of frightening because at one moment you don't see anything but trees and the rocky mountain, another you see the house, standing tall in front of you like it erupts from the Earth. But the truth is, I didn't feel any danger about the house. I know danger when I feel it. This isn't like any of the haunted houses I've ever stepped into. I couldn't feel any ghostly or evil presence. I'm sure what the old woman in the village told us about the cruel wizard is wrong. Besides, how come a wizard in this area bore the name: Shirley? It reminds me of Laverne and Shirley and I miss The Lucy Show now. And why did he choose to live this in the middle of nowhere in Afghanistan? Why did it have to be Afghanistan? Because he didn't want to people to know? Because he didn't want people to have access to his house? Because he had seen the future that Afghanistan would be a conflict area that it's very difficult to get here? There was no turning back and we walked past the gate. The land is beautiful and serene and there's a small farm at the left side. Bill went up to the door to knock on the heavy wooden panel. We were convinced that no one would listen. We have decided that if that was the case, we would just barge in. But indeed the door was opened from the inside and a man in a long robe and a cloak like an Afghanese held it open. Bill asked, "Are you Shirley?" He neither nodded nor shook his head, he had the expression of one who had seen the rise and fall of the Roman Empire and the Nazi. He said, "No, my name is Castiel." He has the bluest eyes I've ever seen._

- - -

He woke up hungry and found that he had fallen asleep on the sofa in the library. Outside the window, the sky was dark but he knew that it was still afternoon. He checked his watched. It was almost four pm.

He took his watch off and set it on the table. He decided that he didn't need it anymore.

He got up and went to the kitchen. Castiel wasn't there. There was no sign that he had cooked something. The flatbread and the milk were still on the table, they had become very cold. The kitchen smelled stale and felt very, very hollow.

He ate a piece of the bread, found it taste like a cardboard, then he washed it down with the milk, which tasted like chalk. Then he began searching the house. But Castiel wasn't anywhere, not even in his bedroom.

He was about to give up and go back to his bedroom when he saw the door that led to the tower, at the end of the corridor of the third floor. Of course, Castiel could be there.

He opened the door and began climbing the endless stairway.

The stairway seemed to be longer than he remembered it, as he climbed it slowly, he felt like he could see faces of those who had sought fortune and died here. It wasn't fair. He and his friends weren't seeking fortune. They only needed a little help. Neither of his friends deserved this. They should be able to return to the base camp and enjoy their future.

But then, what kind of future waited for them? Getting stabbed or shot by the Talibans? Safely going back to America and finding that life wasn't what they had been looking forward to when they were in the war zone?

An age seemed to have passed when he finally reached the top. However, seeing Castiel there, standing at the window, looking out at the snow top mountains, wiped away the exhaustion. He was wrapped in a goatskin cloak, the wind blowing from the outside made the string float and dance.

Castiel didn't turn around when he spoke, "It was the Mongol's soldiers. They were like you, they were wounded and needed shelter and they came across this house. Then one of them decided to smuggle out a little gold statue. It was very very old, even by the standards of this house. But he died at the gate and the statue went back to the living room." He paused, taking a deep breath. "His friends were scared and figured that they couldn't walk out of the gate. So they came with the idea of stringing a rope from here to the tree there, just outside the gate. The problem was, there was only a tiny window here. So they blew it." He stopped.

"Did they succeed?" Dean asked.

Castiel lowered his eyes. "Yes, they did. They used arrows and bows and they managed to slide out."

Dean remembered the bows in the weapon room

"So they successfully escaped?"

"They fell to the ground just as they passed the fence."

"How do you know it was the Mongol's soldiers? Did they leave a note like Bobby's journal?"

"Because I was here."

Dean took a deep breath.

"He bound me here to watch over his possessions. I was only five years old when I was brought here. He died when I had just reached adulthood. He was a greedy and arrogant wizard, but he was very powerful and people are scared of him. I couldn't break the spell. I tried, I read those books. No one can either.

"He had a sick sense of humour, there's one thing in the house, just one, that if taken past the threshold will break the spell, but the only clue he left was that it was the most Precious of all his belongings. I don't know what it is, i never did. So I didn't let people in, so I wouldn't have to bury them," Castiel paused and lowered his eyes. "But sometimes, it gets very lonely without anyone to talk to when even the birds and insects avoid this place."

Dean let silence fall between them, then he said, "So you let people in."

"I shouldn't have let you in," Castiel said.

Dean didn't say anything. He went to stand behind Castiel. Castiel's hair smelled of spices and sweat and a little musk and he felt a ting of sadness at the pit of his stomach, knowing that he had to eventually leave, like it or not.

"But if I sent you away, you could be killed by the Taliban even if the house didn't kill you," Castiel continued.

So the choice was: got spellbound or got murdered? But it wasn't a choice anymore for him.

"I saw you and I couldn't bear the thought of you getting killed," Castiel said again. "or the thought of not being able to see you again."

For him it was when they came up here for the first time to see the full moon. He couldn't imagine keeping on living without being able to see Castiel anymore.

He felt bad because it wasn't love at the first sight but if he could turn back time, he would make it right.

"All I want is for someone to stay here, someone I can cook for," he stopped again and Dean was tempted to continue: someone you can slave around the house, chopping woods, doing laundry, tending the farm. "Someone who can make me feel that I serve a purpose in this world other than a house guard."

Dean wanted to say that there were worse ways of living than becoming an immortal guard.

"So, are you going to leave like the others?" he asked as he lifted up his chin and stared at the horizon.

Dean remembered Kansas City and Sam and his parents and Las Vegas and the Afghani refuges, and how much he would miss the view of the snow topped rocky mountains, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he snaked his arms around Castiel's shoulders and wrapped himself with warmth radiating from Castiel's body.

Castiel was stiff for one second, but then he relaxed and leaned back on Dean's chest.

- - -

_March eighteen. Bill kept on saying that the water is the most precious and we laughed at him. Victor said: but what could be more valuable than these weapon collection? Do you know how much this sword cost? I bet this came from the Heian era. People will pay as much as forty million dollars for this piece. What can you do with forty million dollars? I know what I will do with that much amount of money. Bill said: ah, but what if you're rich but sick? This water is like the water of life. It heals. What is more valuable than health? Idjits. I didn't say anything. I'm in the opinion that the books are the most precious of all._

- - -  
~end


End file.
